


Destinies

by JessieMay



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Abruzzi is alive, All Characters Make it Out of the Prison Alive, Alternate Ending, Comedy, Desperate Michael, Gen, Insane Michael, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-11
Updated: 2005-05-11
Packaged: 2018-02-03 21:51:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1757871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessieMay/pseuds/JessieMay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they all decided to entrust their fates to one structurally competant, mechanically ingenious Michael Scofield, it had seemed like a good idea at the time. </p><p>Season one alternate ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Destinies

Michael Scofield had an idea- more, an expression. It was because of this expression that he'd managed to maintain the fair bit of sanity that had been threatening to slip from his grasp over the past months.

 _Don't drop the ball_ , were the words that echoed through his head day and night. Like a looping record, they were played over and over. Some might say that this in itself would constitute insanity.

"Your brother's a…little odd, would you say?" The question came out awkward and murmured, and sounded as though Abruzzi was unsure himself as to whether or not it was meant to be rhetorical.

Lincoln, who, up to this point, had the utmost faith in his brother's brilliance, was feeling considerably inept to the situation and could hardly muster up enough deliberation to face the mob boss, let alone form a reasonable response.

It was hard to say exactly what Michael Scofield could have been thinking the day he came up with the tremendous plan to break into Fox River Penitentiary, snatch up his doomed brother and march right back out without a second's delay, but at this moment it was becoming painfully clear-- to all of them-- that he should've perhaps given it some more thought.

There stood the four newly freed inmates: the mobster, the doomed brother, the hopeless lover, and the hopeless pervert, all looking somberly onto the dark, tattooed figure of one Michael Scofield, who appeared to be passionately ramming his head against a tree.

 

 

It was nearly 10:00 PM when they'd abruptly peeled off their course and instead made a hard b-line to a nearby woods. Michael had given no warning or reason, and the gang just followed cluelessly behind him, assuming that there was some secret something of mysterious significance to be found just beyond the forthcoming trees, and when Michael revealed it to them they would all be very awed indeed and the engineer would then proceed to amaze them further.

When Michael did not reveal the secret something of mysterious significance beyond the woods but instead converged himself with a large pine tree, his followers were not yet swayed to lose faith. Somehow, in there minds, there was still a considerable likelihood that even this had a vital part in the plan.

Two minutes had passed when the possibility finally dawned on the fugitives that something had gone terribly wrong.

"It's finally happened, boys!" Theodore Bagwell sang out. "Our little birdy's flown the coupe!"

While the notion would have normally earned T-bag a blunt scolding or swat to the head, at the time, few present could think of any grounds on which to disagree.

"'Eh …You, uh, thinkin' of maybe stoppin' him any time soon, Papi?" Sucre had spoken up, obviously unsure as to the correct course of action in these sort of situations.

Lincoln had been feeling guilty. He knew it was because of him that Michael was in prison in the first place and that everything that befell his brother thereafter was indirectly his fault as well. Therefore, it was entirely Lincoln's responsibility if his brother was now making a tree the focal point of his cranial aggression.

He reached out then to pull his brother away from the abused tree, but was caught mid-way by the scarred hand of Mr. John Abruzzi.

"I do not know your brother well enough," he said in his slurred, swaying way, words heavy with significance and a dark knowing. "But I know that when I am deep in my own thoughts, I am far gone from this world, and it would be unwise to disrupt me unfinished."

Though hesitant at first, Lincoln did back off. It had been difficult for the death row inmate to believe that this, in any way, could aid the thought process, but for the most part he was relieved to delay the confrontation with this new side of his brother.

And so they waited.

It was now 11:30 and painfully clear that things perhaps were not going according to plan.

Fernando Sucre, who once thought he knew his cell mate fairly well, was now feeling increasingly alienated and wondered whether he'd made a very bad mistake indeed by leaving prison at all. The confused man stood awkwardly at the side of the quiet little road, looking like a rabbit about to bolt across a freeway; Abruzzi was lounging in a scruff of tanned grass, and appeared to be making some sort of ornament from the pine needles in his close vicinity; T-bag had gotten bored some minutes ago and sauntered off to badly traumatize some unsuspecting rodent probably; Lincoln was gazing openly up at the stars, counting the few, almost indistinguishable planes that seemed to just inch along, as he leaned leisurely against a tree some yards away from where Michael was.

It was at this time that things became oddly still. An eerie sort of silence took over the clearing. It was so sudden and blatand a silence that Sucre immediately tore his attention away from the road and T-bag came bolting out from the shady trees to see what had caused such an ungodly stillness. They all turned and notice at once what had caused it.

Michael had stopped banging his head against the tree.

The tattooed man had pulled way from the tree and was now regarding his company and surroundings with a fresh awareness.

A clearer view of Michael revealed an open gash just below his hair line that appeared to have bled itself out, and Lincoln noticed when Michael had faced him that his eyes seemed  wider than normal.

With nothing more but a once look-over of his crew, Michael gave a dignified nod and said very clearly, "lets go."

 

And they were off. Back on the road and back to the plan.

Michael led the way ahead of the other four who were keeping a general distance, stepping lightly and with a caution that suggested Michael was a highly sensitive bomb ready to detonate at the slightest disturbance.

Michael insisted that they keep to the open road, explaining that it was the last place any figure of authority would check, as it would be the first place they would think to look.

  
This philosophy seemed perfectly ridiculous to the trailing four, but they'd pretty much lost all hope back at the tree.

The pace was well enough and they guessed they were making good time, stopping only once more at an intersection where Michael needed to get acquainted with a light post.  
But after that, things were moving along quite nicely.

Lincoln Burrows, Fernando Sucre, Theodore Bagwell, and John Abruzzi had left their destinies entirely to one man. They were confident that he had once been a very brilliant man. But there was a small possibility that his time in prison had taken a toll on Michael Scofield.

 


End file.
